


Solidarity

by starrylitme



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Jokes, Bad Puns, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Music, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easier when there are others who understand. And when they sing about it.</p><p>But someone who understands just being close by is pretty good, too.</p><p>(For Day 5 of that Cheer Up The Skeleton thing on tumblr. Post-Pacifist Sans and Frisk banter, comfort one another, and Frisk gives Sans a music player because the theme of Day 5 is in fact, Music. There are plenty of bad jokes and puns too though. Like there'd be anything else.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solidarity

**Author's Note:**

> ASL Frisk is love. ASL Frisk is life. And Sans isn't suffering here even when I couldn't resist slight (SLIGHT) GenoRun references like WHAT.
> 
> First Undertale fic posted and it's part of the Cheer Up The Skeleton week on tumblr because otherwise... If you know me at aaaaall... Hahaha...
> 
> There's still some understandable tension but a lot more hope. Which I think is as good of a start as any.
> 
> Sans and Frisk have the relationship that makes me cry the second most. So the comfort was as good for me as it was for them. Probably.
> 
> Somewhat written to while listening to "Pinch Me" by Barenaked Ladies which I posted on tumblr once about being the most Sans-y song I've ever heard out there. That one's definitely on the music player somewhere.

_Sans._ The movement of their hands was fluid and on habit, his smile tightened just a bit but relaxed again as he followed the familiar motions that made up the sign name ketchup. The intense look of focus on Frisk’s face almost made him laugh—but he held back when he saw their eyebrows raise, their pointer fingers curling as they asked— _Can I ask you something?_

“Sure thing.” He had gotten in the habit of signing while he talked to the kid every now and then. When they first met, it helped them calm down, sign a bit easier. “What is it?”

But Frisk just shook their head. _Can’t explain too much. It’s a surprise._

“Boo, kid.” They cleared their throat, coughing into their hand. Sans has seen that gesture more than enough times to know what it meant—they were trying not to laugh. Trying to look as professional as possible. Pretty effective too, as he’s never seen them crack once afterwards. That just means he needs to keep trying. “You’re giving this _bonehead_ a little too much credit.”

 _Wrong. I need to be careful, because..._ Frisk shot him the most suspicious, the most serious of stares. _Sans always seems to know what’s ketch **up**._

He immediately snorted. Frisk evenly meets his stare, lips pulled into a seemingly straight, unmoved line. Except he sees the hint of a smug upwards curl at the edges of their mouth—the subtle brightness in that gaze.

“You really are giving me too much credit, kid.” Easy. Simple. “I just happen to feel a lot of things in my _bones_.”

Frisk didn’t seem to react until they responded, and it was the increased speed of their hands that gave them away. _I don’t think that’s true. It can’t be true. I can **see right through you**._

“That you don’t believe me cuts me to the _soul_ , kiddo.” For his credit, he does a pretty good impression of someone who just been sliced open. Frisk, for some reason— _some reason_ —flinches. He elects to ignore it. “But I guess that’s true, at least.”

It’s still a little awkward between them, with Frisk fiddling with their fingers and distantly looking away. That’s...more than a little troubling. He can’t say he’s a big fan of that look. Especially in how it looks.

“...Frisk. What were you going to ask me?”

Frisk perked up, hands popping open like lightbulbs going off. Turning to him, they hastily waved their hands, signing. _It’s still difficult adjusting to the surface, isn’t it?_

“...well...” He shrugs noncommittedly. “It’s a big change. Hard to get settled—but hey, I’m getting by. You should really be asking someone else, like Alphys or...”

 _Sans. Sometimes you look..._ Pausing, Frisk’s features pinched in concern. _Lonely. I think._

“Skeletons tend to get _bonely_ from time to time. Happens.” Another shrug, and he asks, “Papyrus is doing well, isn’t he? Well, it’d be a real shock if he wasn’t.  Not just because he’s, y’know, **_The Great Papyrus_** , but he has friends like you and Undyne...”

 _Stop!_ The sudden cutting motion does, in fact, make him stop. Frisk was frowning at him accusingly, flustered. _That_ has him completely still. _I asked **you** , no one else._

That way they pointed at him felt more like a jab. “I was just saying, Frisk... It’s fine. Don’t get so upset?”

Frisk stared at him hard but soon relaxed those tense little shoulders, rubbing circles on their chest in apology. And then... _I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I’m **really** sorry, Sans._

“No metaphorical skin off my bones, kid,” he laughs.

 _But acting like that won’t help you._ Frisk points out, shaking their head as they do. With resolve and determination, they went on. _I’ll do better in the future. Okay, Sans?_

With a smile like that, there’s no other way he can respond. “Heh. Still rooting for ya, kid. Don’t forget it.”

Frisk firmly shook their head and then signed something about needing to leave, but not before wrapping their arms around his waist and giving the strongest squeeze their weak little body could muster. Sans ruffled their hair fondly, and grinned back widely as Frisk beamed up at him before rushing off.

Watching their small figure fade as the distance between them increased, Sans ducked further into his jacket.

“Still rooting, huh...”

* * *

Frisk had been like that ever since the barrier was broken. They had been determined from the start but with time they picked up a fierceness as well—one that was, in no doubt, encouraged whole-heartedly by Undyne. Either way, it didn’t change the fact that Frisk was eager to keep on carrying the mantle of human-monster integration.

There were some difficulties that a kid like Frisk wouldn’t understand. But, at least nothing stopped Frisk from doing what they could from their ‘ambassador’ duties, attempts at acting like a guide to everyone—to little things like using their savings to buy them all housewarming gifts, even if they couldn’t afford much. Still, Papyrus couldn’t have been happier with those tacky number-shaped sunglasses. No one faulted Frisk; everyone appreciated their efforts.

He’s not an exception to that. He couldn’t be prouder of the kid. True, that was more Toriel’s job than his, but it was what it was. It didn’t matter. Nothing really did.

But Frisk was still doing their best. Everyone else was settling in, moving on while keeping up was a bit of a hassle. He was...fine with that, he supposed. It was a little difficult but...

It was what it was. Easy as that. No point wasting energy thinking about it.

He really was tired to the point he wanted nothing more than to just relax.

* * *

In the kitchen, Papyrus is singing loudly to the music on the radio. It’s loud and off-key but the battered pot as his brother cooks is complaining so that he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t even want to, either. Papyrus’s cheer is infectious for miles. A real star. Like the plastic glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. A present from Frisk, the other star in his life.

“AH, GREETINGS, FRISK!!!”

Speaking of Frisk.

“Sans is in his room as always!” Papyrus chirps, making Sans perk up with a blink. “You know him. What’s that you’re holding?”

His brother makes a muffled ‘ah’ sound soon after. Sans knows him well enough that such a response likely came from him slapping his hands over his mouth because Frisk shushed him. The thought at him chuckling, but curiosity put an edge to it.

_Kid, what are you planning...?_

There’s a knock on his door. Despite everything, he answers. “Who is it?”

A pause. He imagines Frisk getting huffy and frustrated. He feels somewhat bad but doesn’t let on.

Frisk, of course, knocks out the letters.

_H-A-R-R-Y_

“Harry who?” he asks, and he stifles a laugh. If Papyrus wasn’t back to humming, he’d probably get yelled at when the other realized. For what it’s worth, Frisk perseveres all the same.

_H-A-R-R-Y-U-P-N-O-P-E-N_

With a flick of his fingers, the door opens and Frisk pushes it further to let themselves in. Sarcastically, they thank him but shut the door behind them, sighing.

Sans just waves, not even bothering to push himself up from where he laid on the bare mattress. Frisk eyes his bunched up sheets with the kind of disdain only Papyrus could challenge, and walked up to them, arms folded behind their back. Sans heard the rustling of a bag but kept on smiling up at them.

Frisk does smile back, signing one-handedly. _What are you doing?_

“I’m star-gazing, obviously.” His grin widened. “So what about you? Something going on? C’mon, kid, _lay_ it on me.”

 _Haha._ Frisk had a breathy sort of laugh, one that was muffled even further when they giggled into their hand. Just then, Papyrus hit an astronomically high note in his singing and Frisk jumped in sudden surprise. Laughter stopped dead, Frisk suddenly looked a lot more sheepish as they caught their breath.

Sans does push himself up now, at least, grin a bit wryer. “It’s worse when Undyne visits. But, hey, the song he’s singing with isn’t so bad. Pretty okay, honestly. Good beat—in that it doesn’t beat you over the head. Most of the time.”

Frisk perked up. For anyone but Sans, their quick half-signing would have been difficult to understand. _Do you like music? Which ones? What kind?_

“Uh... Don’t really listen to a lot of that, kiddo...” Rubbing at the back of his neck, he added. “Tori has a real pretty singing voice, for what it’s worth. Now, now, don’t give me that look.”

Their eyes just narrowed further.

“C’mon kid, you _goat_ to take things easy sometimes.” It was a good thing he was a skeleton because that got him a flat out death glare. At least Frisk’s lips were twitching with something that could’ve been amusement.

 _Not angry._ Frisk signed, matter-of-fact and immediately dropping both the glare and possible smile in favor of that serious, stoic, no-nonsense demeanor. _Just asking. Because of this._

From behind their back, they finally presented him with a gift bag. It’s a pretty nice and shiny shade of blue, the tissue paper sticking out a softer cyan in comparison. Along the edge is the kid’s loopy handwriting in sharpie. For Sans.

“Aw jeez, kid,” he mutters, smile twitching. “What’s the occasion supposed to be? If you start spoiling me, Papyrus is gonna get jealous.”

Frisk just determinedly urges him to take it. So he does, mostly in order to free up the kid’s hands to allow them to explain. Frisk just stares him down, clearly waiting for him to see the gift inside as well. As funny as it’d be to just sit there and do nothing until something else happened—like Papyrus intervening or him falling asleep— _eh_. Well. Might as well see what the present is.

It was a fairly medium-sized bag, but not a terribly full one. In fact, there were just a pair of headphones inside...along with a small, shiny cyan rectangle that easily caught his eye despite how unassuming it was. A music player, probably. But much smaller than the one Alphys had. Much easier to lose.

Along with this gift, the kid was really giving him too much credit.

 _It’s an old model but still good. Actually, it was mine for a while and I really liked it._ Frisk explained in the corner of his gaze. _But..._ And they paused, seemingly getting flustered before... _It took a while...putting all the songs on there._

“Kid, you know I appreciate that much effort but—ah, wouldn’t this be more of Papyrus’s thing than mine?” He asked, the lights in his eye sockets flickering back up to focus on Frisk’s expression. “Haha, what’s with that look?”

 _Papyrus helped me pick out songs too. He said that..._ Sans blinked. Frisk really did seem nervous; their hands even looked clammy. _It’ll help you to settle in more? I guess? He was really excited when he saw I had it finished._

“Huh.” Whistling through the gap in his teeth, he took out the music player. On closer inspection, it was a little worn and there were a couple of scratches on it. The headphones were much newer and nicer on the surface level. “Let’s hear what you got here then.”

He patted the spot beside him. Frisk perked up but plopped down all the same, the mattress dipping more under their weight and them almost on instinct pressing into his side. He handed the headphones off to them, directing them to hold it between so they both could hear as he flicked the music player on and turned up the volume as high as it could.

The beat was already different than what he was used to Papyrus listening to. Less techno-y, like something that wouldn’t be out of place on Mettaton’s shows. Rather simplistic—but it’s not like he was much of a music expert.

Strangely, Frisk was tapping along in between glancing at him curiously—nervously. Waiting his response to the first of the carefully picked out songs, he knows. He should be focused more on the song, so he listens more carefully to the lyrics and...

_Oh._

At some point, the tension in his shoulders dissipated and he was instinctively leaning closer to Frisk to hear the song better. Frisk pressed closer as well, and it was then Sans noticed that they were mouthing along to the lyrics.

Lyrics which conveyed feelings that were all too familiar. Painfully so, but the clench in his chest also came with a strange relaxing. He could have laughed, and it could have felt like a relief even though he didn’t really understand it. Not completely.

But he could figure it out—it wasn’t that hard of a puzzle, he liked to think.

The next song was like the first. Familiar words interlaced with familiar feelings even though he’s sure he’s never heard this song before. In heavier times, it’d be a bit unnerving but now...

“Kid, am I really that transparent?”

Frisk looked at him, eyes a little wide and then shook their head, waving their hand. _I wish. If you were, finding these songs would’ve been **much** easier._

“Yeah?” The song was fading and rather than let the next start, he pauses it with a clink of metal against bone. “So that’s why you had Papyrus helping you then.”

 _He thought a lot of the songs sounded sad._ And they did. He knew it and it didn’t look like Frisk was denying that, either. But. _But... I told him they could still be comforting. And make you feel better... Because... Things are easier when you know you’re not alone. Right?_

Without missing a beat and suddenly flustered, Frisk went on and clarified. _Not all the songs are sad! Some are really actually happy and upbeat! Papyrus picked most of those._

“Oh wow... _Those_ I gotta hear.” Frisk nods, but their grip tightens on the headphones. There’s something complicated in their expression at that moment. Something that makes him wonder. “You both put a lot of thought into this, did you? Did anyone else help?”

Their hand wavered. _Mom helped, as did A-L-P-H-Y-S, and U-N-D-Y-N-E...tried._

“Geez. Really? You could crush a guy with that much attention.” The image of Undyne ‘trying’ was hilarious though. He’s definitely happier to exist in a world where that happened. Where it was even _possible_ to happen.

_...Hmm._

“I guess I really have to listen to every song on here, don’t I?” he asks and he knows the answer already. Frisk already handed him the headphones, and they’re light when he puts them around his neck. “So are you going to be on your way, Frisk?”

Frisk didn’t move. There was that look again—that distant, unnerving one which felt like the kid knew something _else_. Something that just didn’t sit right with him. This time, their hands were still, fingers curled with only the slightest twitch.

“Something up, Frisk?” His tone is cool as ever, but there’s a clipped quality he can’t really help. “Something you want to _sign_?”

Frisk’s hands hesitated, still clenching onto nothing before moving. Even with the premature slump halfway through, the messages was clear.

_Tired._

“Yeah.... I get that feeling...” Sans sighed, shaking his head. But rather than just let that hang in the air, he ruffles the kid’s hair. Frisk peers up at him, and he does see the fatigue. But he also sees something else that’s familiar—something that...he really doesn’t want to figure out. “There’s only room enough for one lazybones in this house though. Don’t you think so?”

They hesitated before nodding fervently, throwing their hands up in frustration. Then with the kind of speed you’d think the kid would use exclusively for dodging, they signed in frantic, rapid succession. The kind even he had a bit of trouble following, lights lazily following the motions.

Something about wanting. Something about trying. Something about failing—making mistake after mistake and—something about managing? No, _wait_. It was more like—

_I thought that—if I started back over_

_And over_

_And over_

**_I’d be able to fix everything after a while_ **

**But** _there’s still so much—_

**Wrong**

_And I’m starting to wonder_

_Since when did I even **have** control?_

_Me thinking that way in the first place—_

_What even_ caused _that?_

_I don’t_ **understand** _it. But I keep trying and trying and—_

_I’m just_

**_So_ ** _tired._

Finally. Slower. Frisk’s motions began to slip.

_I’m so tired._

“Frisk,” he says, and the kid took a break to press their face into their hands. It wasn’t for very long. They resumed sure enough, head low, fingers quivering oh so subtly.

_I thought it’d be easy once I broke the barrier. That I’d be able to do anything. But... I was wrong. Now—there’s so much I can’t do. And trying has become so...so tiring._

“Oh, kid,” he sighs, rubbing at the back of his skull and giving their shoulder a firm squeeze. Frisk’s head still hung low, dark brown strands obscuring whatever face they could be making at the moment. If they really had much of an expression to them at all. “Haven’t you listened to enough songs to realize that there are just some things out of your control? Like things you just can’t fully understand—or hell, like how you just can’t _change_ how people feel sometimes?”

After a while, Frisk does nod. But of course, admitting it is only the first step to accepting it.

“In times like these....” Sans started, and he tilts their head up. “It’s best to just focus on what you _can_ do. Which you’ve already been doing, so you don’t need an ol’ bag of bones like me stating the obvious. But, if you still need my advice... Heh.” His thumbs dug into the corners of Frisk’s mouth, pulling them up into an upwards curve. “Sometimes a smile is all people need. And hey, for bonus, it takes less energy than a frown. Isn’t that nice?”

Frisk blinks at him, eyes still a bit blank, and then mirrors the gesture; though their thumbs press a lot harder into the edges of his grin. It almost hurts. Then their lips move. _Huh?_

 _‘You understand,’_ they mouth, _‘what this is like, right? S-A-N-S?’_

“Aw jeez, kid.” He laughs, and they both pull their hands back as he fiddles with the headphones around his neck. “I should have known better than to try and act cool when that’s my brother’s job—”

 _Someone who understands..._ Frisk signs. _That, also, can be what people need. It’s comfort through... S-O-L-I-D-A-R-I-T-Y, I think?_

“That’s what this was for, right?” Sans asked with a chuckle, and he plucked the music player off his lap from where he set it down earlier to comfort Frisk. “Not _just_ for cheering me up? You’re a _real_ heartbreaker, kid.”

 _No. It was definitely J-U-S-T to cheer Sans **up**!_ They insisted. _That was my motive! Nothing else!_

“It worked, for what it was worth.” He pointed out. Frisk did grin at that, and he grinned back, but... _There is something else..._ “Thanks, Frisk.”

In the next moment, Frisk had their arms wrapped tightly around him, face buried in his jacket with fingers digging in. Returning the embrace with one arm while his other hand kept his grip on the music player, a few fingers stroking down Frisk’s hair, Sans sighed.

 _I should get going but..._ Rather than letting go to communicate, Frisk wrote on his jacket. _Can I stay for a bit?_

“Papyrus is going to get so angry at me for being a bad influence,” Sans muttered, and he could see it happening too. His brother stomping in after he and Frisk spent what could be hours just listening to the music player, but he thinks it’d be alright. That even though they both spent that time in silence while the songs played, it wouldn’t be time wasted and maybe, just maybe, it’d make things overall— _between them both_ —a bit better. “You don’t mind vouching for me when he does that, right, kid?”

He definitely think things will be better, especially as Frisk fervently nods against him.


End file.
